Eleanor closed her eyes briefly in despair. “Then God help you, Alana.”
* * *
BYTHETIMEthey reached Concarn, the snow had stopped falling, and the gray skies were clearing.
It had taken them much longer than a long afternoon and a few hours of the evening to reach the small village in northeast Aberdeenshire. The new snow made the going difficult, delaying them. They had been forced to stop around midnight, when the winds came up, the snow blinding, and they had spent the night in a stable behind a farmhouse.
“We are here.” The boy smiled at her widely.
Alana managed to smile back at the young boy, whose name she had learned was Ranald. And then she stared at the army camped below them.
They were on a small hillock astride their horses, a sea of tents below them. The village was to the left, several stone walled pastures between it and the manor house. Snow covered the tents, the fields and the woods. It covered the rooftops in the village, the manor, its barns and sheds. And Bruce’s flag waved above the camp, yellow and red and shockingly bright.
Alana stared at Robert Bruce’s flag. A pang of fear pierced her.
The boy clucked to his horse, kicking it, and Alana did the same. She had had a day and a half to consider what she was doing, and to question her decision to go to Iain in the enemy’s camp. But once upon the road, she had no doubts. She knew she must see him again. There might not be another chance, the future was that uncertain.
She had not had to worry about her paternity while at Brodie. She had not had to worry about her deception. Now she had to worry very much about the secrets she kept from Iain.
She was torn. He deserved the truth—all of it. It did not feel right continuing to deceive him, yet deceive him she must, for her own safety. Even if she wished to tell Iain about her father and her uncle, she could not do so now.
There was some relief in having a valid excuse for not confessing her deception to Iain. She no longer had to worry about his reaction when she told him Sir Alexander was her father. Not just then. It gave their relationship a reprieve.
And if their relationship survived this meeting, when the time was right, she would tell him about Sir Alexander—and that she had the sight. But that time was not now.
Ranald paused to ask a soldier where Iain was. Alana sat her mount, aware of being remarked by the closest soldiers. Her heart was thundering. It crossed her mind that if Bruce walked by, which was unlikely, he would glance at her, as well. An attractive young woman was not a common sight in a war camp.
Alana pulled her hood down lower over her forehead. She must be careful to avoid all the soldiers, she thought, and she must especially make certain to avoid coming into contact with Robert Bruce.
They were directed to a larger tent not far from the manor. Instantly she saw his banner flying atop the tent, streaking the sky. Her tension spiraled. The fluttering in her chest increased. They slowly made their way through the other tents.
When they were close enough to dismount, the flap door of his tent opened and Iain stepped out.
She trembled. He had not bothered to don a fur or any cloak—he was clad in his leine, which swirled about his bare thighs. He wore two swords and a dagger. Huge rowels flanked the spurs on his leather boots. His long hair was loose, rioting about his shoulders. She had forgotten how powerful his presence was, how masculine and handsome he was.
His gaze instantly found her.
He strode toward them, his strides hard and filled with purpose. He reached them and seized her mount’s bridle. “Well done,” he said to Ranald. But his piercing blue gaze never left her face.
Her heart slammed wildly. All doubt vanished. Alana was so happy to see him. She was so relieved he was well. And it no longer mattered that he was ruthless; not then.
“I am sorry that the snow delayed us,” Ranald said, halting his horse.
Iain finally glanced at him. “I worried ye’d come to some harm.”
“I would not let harm befall yer lady,” Ranald said, sliding from his horse.
Iain smiled briefly. His gaze locked with Alana’s again, and then he clasped her by the waist, his hands large and strong, and pulled her from the mare.
He did not release her, and she remained in his powerful embrace.
His stare unwavering and heated upon hers, he said, “Tend to the horses and get yerself food and rest, lad. Ye did well.”
Ranald grinned a bit slyly, taking both horses and leading them away.
“I could not decide if ye’d come,” Iain said, unsmiling and terse.
How her heart pounded. “There was no decision to make.”
